You know the drill… no medical knowledge, blah, blah. Written quickly, posted quickly, blah, blah. I admit to being a little let-down by 7.03, so I wrote my own addition. Set immediately after Bobby stole the ambulance. I encourage people to write their own addendums to this eppy. I just feel we need… more!
The first part of the plan was to ditch the ambulance. Bobby had "borrowed" a van in which he had outfitted the back with a large mattress, enough room for two injured hunters – even if one was a Sasquatch. They had a long drive ahead of them to Whitefish, Montana, almost 19 hours. It took almost an hour to get an unconscious Sam settled in. He plied Dean with more morphine before helping him clumsily scoot next to his brother to lie down. Bobby was pretty proud of his "clinic" on wheels. Sam's intravenous port was still in his hand, making it easy to reattach his fluids. Unfortunately for Sam, but fortunately for Bobby his catheter was still attached as well. Dean would have to make do with a bottle. Bobby decided it was best to put a new IV line in Dean about 10 hours into the trip. The kid hadn't even stirred.
It had been about three hours since the last dose of meds when Bobby pulled up to the cabin. He was impressed that the boys stayed asleep through the bumpy, dirt road leading up to Rufus' old place. Pulling as close as possible to the front door, Bobby woke Dean. Dean wasn't really all that "awake", and helped as best he could to get into the house. The pilfered wheelchair helped the cause tremendously, even though the ride made Dean vomit. He got Dean into one of the beds in the back bedroom. Wiping his brow, Bobby decided to tackle bringing Sam inside. Unlike Dean, Sam was still unconscious. He didn't stir as Bobby manhandled him into the same wheelchair. It was a challenge wheeling Sam inside while trying to keep him actually in the chair. God knows that it was still a better option than attempting to carry Sam inside the cabin. Doing his best not to hurt Sam, Bobby finally got Sam into the bed across the room from Dean. He made sure the boys were both comfortable, both dosed with meds. Flopping onto the old couch, Bobby immediately dozed off.
"S'm… Sammy?" Dean woke slowly with one word on his lips.
"He's right here Dean. He's still out." Bobby answered while checking Dean's temperature with a hand to the forehead.
"Bobby. It is you. Th…though maybe was a dream. Glad you're okay, man." Dean shifted and gasped in pain when the movement jarred his leg. Through gritted teeth he asked, "how's Sam doin'?"
"Easy Dean. Your body has been through a lot. A compound fracture is nothing to sneeze at." Bobby placed his hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'm here. I'm gonna take care of both of ya. Just rest now. I promise that I'll keep a close eye on your brother."
"Kay. Thanss Bobby." Dean slurred from both pain and meds. Bobby thought he was out for the count when Dean mumbled something that sounded a lot like, "M'glad you're not dead. Need ya."
Two days later and Dean was finally off of the hard stuff and on to pain pills, still groggy, but much more aware of the world around him. Acutely aware of what was going on with Sam, a whole lotta nothin'.
Bobby had assured Dean that Sam was dealing with a bad concussion; he just needed time to heal. A doctor friend told him that it might take a few days for Sam to become responsive. This did little to reassure Dean. The only way Bobby managed to keep Dean in bed was by pushing the beds together so Dean could watch Sam closely.
Bobby was in the kitchen making lunch when Dean awoke from yet another nap. Dean looked over to Sam and gasped. "Bobby!" Bobby came running with a dish towel still in his hand.
"What? What's wrong?" he said breathlessly.
"Look. Look at 'im." Dean stared into Sam's open eyes. Open but empty, no one was home.
"Dean, calm down. I'm gonna call my doc friend. Sit tight, keep an eye on your brother."
Another day passed, with multiple reassurances from both Bobby and his friend that this was good news; that Sam was returning to them, Dean's eyes never left Sam's. He tried talking to Sam like they do on television; once Dr. Sexy brought a patient out of a coma by reading Whitman. Dean didn't have any poetry to read to Sam so instead he spoke of old memories. Stories of motel rooms, ghosts and hook-ups flowed from Dean.
"… I'm tellin' ya man, she was hot. She had a way of putting on lipstick…" Dean smiled as he looked over at Sam. Only this time, tears were streaming from Sam's open eyes.
"S… Sammy?" Dean wiped a tear from his brother's cheek and was rewarded with a blink.
"P…please," Sam's shredded voice was barely noticeable.
"What do you need, Sam? Are you hurting?" Dean could barely contain his relief.
"Please. N…not him. Jus' jus', I know you're not r'l. Jus' please don' look like him…" tears continued flowing from Sam's eyes. "I'll do wha' you sssaid. Jus' need to find m'gun. I'll end it like you said."
Dean's blood ran cold hearing these words from his brother. "Bobby!" Once again Bobby came running into the bedroom. "He… he's awake but he… he thinks he's in hell. He thinks I'm Lucifer disguised as me. He wants to get his gun and end it!"
"Calm down, son. He's bound to be confused after everything. Remind him, Dean. Remind him of who you are." Bobby walked over to Sam's bedside. "How ya feelin' boy? Need anything?"
Sam's tired eyes found Bobby's. A smile crept to his face. He laughed. "You're good. You've never been two people at once. Jus', just don't try to be them." Sam rolled away from Dean and faced the wall.
"Bobby. Hide the weapons." Dean's eyes never left Sam's back. Bobby left the room to grant Dean's wish.
Dean hated himself for what he was about to do, but he was desperate. His brother had mentioned suicide several times in the last hour. Sam had rolled back onto his back and continued mumbling. Spotting his chance, Dean grabbed Sam's hand with the IV inserted and ripped it from his brother's hand. Sam yelped and Dean kept a hold on the hand, pressing hard to stop the blood flow and to inflict pain. "Look at me Sam. Look at me!"
Grimacing in pain, Sam eyes sought Dean's.
"It's me Sam. Dean. Remember? This pain is real. I am real, Sam." Sam looked down at his hand. Dean shouted, "Dammit Sam! It's me! Tell me you see me! Tell me you know it's me!"
Sam focused on the pain in his hand, looked into Dean's eyes then broke away to scan the room. "Wh… where am I?"
Dean kept pressure on Sam's hand, fearing losing his grasp on Sam. "Rufus' cabin. Bobby's here too."
"Yeah, Sammy. Bobby's alive. I almost didn't believe it either." Dean slowly released his hold on Sam's hand. "Do you believe me Sam? Do you know that I'm real? That this is real?"
Sam looked Dean up and down. "Dean, are you okay? Your leg…"
"Son of a bitch broke it." Dean knocked his fist on his cast. "You, Sam… you scared us. You were knocked out and had another seizure. Bobby had to get us out of there before our black-goo-spewing friends found us and had us for dinner."
Sam's hand went to his head and found the bandage. "Am… am I okay?" he asked wincing.
Dean sighed in relief. Sam seemed to be coming back to him. "Yeah, you just needed some time to wake up."
Squinting in pain, Sam asked, "Am I awake?"
"Sam, you're awake. You're here. I'm here. Bobby's here. We're gonna be okay. You just have to promise not to check out on me." Dean's face grew serious. "I mean it Sammy. You don't get to check out on me. You don't get to crawl back into your head… and you most definitely do not get to grab your gun and 'end it'!"
"I'm sorry Dean. You weren't meant to hear that. I was just confused. I'll do my best to stay planted in reality." Sam looked up to see tears in Dean's eyes this time.
"Please Sam. Please don't you ever do that again. I swear that it's still 'you go, I go'. I can't… I can't do this alone. I won't. Wh… when you see him… When you don't know what's real, you've got to tell me. You've got to ask me. P…Please."
Hearing the desperation in his brother's voice almost broke Sam's heart. "M'sorry Dean. Okay. I promise." Sam found himself feeling nauseated. This was all a bit much for someone who just woke up from a major head injury.
Dean noticed the change in Sam before Sam did. He grabbed the trashcan beside the bed and held it under Sam's face just in time. "Okay Sammy, take it easy. It's okay. It's gonna be okay. I gotcha." Sam finished gagging and sunk back into his bed. Despite his best efforts, he could barely keep his eyes open.
"De… M'sorry. M'sorry. So tired." Bleary eyes looked into Dean's. With a smile he whispered, "you're real. You c'n legitimately kick m'ass." He sighed then took a deep breath. "This s'stone number one and we'll build on it." With that, Sam's eyes closed in exhaustion.
Dean pushed the trashcan as far away as he could without falling out of bed. Lying back, he was overcome with fatigue. He didn't know how to feel better. He didn't know how to make Sam better. He couldn't fix this. Couldn't fix him. But for now, in this moment, he could relax. He had a promise from Sam. It was a start. Stone number one, and they were damn-sure gonna build on it.